


Get Your Kicks Driving Me Down

by flashindie



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Banter, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fighting Kink, Height Differences, Miscommunication, Rough Sex, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-31 23:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21281657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: “It ain’t ideal,” he tells her with a shrug. “Ideal’s you takin’ a gun, ideal’s you doin’ as you’re told and not goin’ in at all, but you keep on establishin’ that that ain’t an area you can be trusted in, so this is what’s left. You need to know how to throw a punch, you need to know how to break a hold, just enough to haul your ass out.”-Post-2.07 but pre-2.08, Rio tries to teach Beth how to fight. It goes about as well as you'd expect.Can be read as a companion piece toSleight of My Hand (a quick pull trigger), but doesn't have to be.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 24
Kudos: 272





	Get Your Kicks Driving Me Down

It’s not until Jane’s asleep, her little kitten snores purring against Beth’s pillow, that she even thinks of getting up. Not until she hears Dean turn off the television in the living room, hears him pad up the stairs to bed himself, that she does. 

Her fingers are still trembling as she ties the knot on her robe, her legs infirm as she steals out of her bedroom, careful not to wake her daughter, her slippered feet treading soft as she can towards the kitchen. 

She’s drawing out recipes in her head before she’s even at the cabinets – vanilla slice, key lime pie – he’d gone _back_ – lemon tarts, meringues – he hadn’t even known what he was looking for, unless maybe he thought Jane had - - unless he’d thought perhaps Beth had been right after all – red velvet cupcakes, chocolate fudge brownies. 

God, what he must’ve thought, when he’d found Jane’s dubby. 

Blinking hard, Beth takes a step back, the weight of the day, of the night, catching up to her. She still feels a little wobbly, a little trembly as she pulls out the bowls, the electric mixer, settles on lunchbox cupcakes for the kids and takes out the ingredients for them – eggs, flour, vanilla pods, milk. Sets them up along the kitchen island, a neat utility line of purpose, a job she can start and finish with a sort of muscle memory that keeps her wandering mind still, if only for the time it takes to do it.

And it’s too easy, to start to build the batter, and then easier still to fold into it all of her leftover terror. To whisk her embarrassment in with the eggs, to melt her premature, unrealised grief down with the butter. Somewhere in it all, she fills the well of dry ingredients with all the feelings she can’t name – the tear of the envelope always in her ears, the soft knit of the dubby at her fingers. God, it had smelt a little still of that house – the faint scent she recognised from Annie as weed, of that cheap, paint-stripping vodka Beth hasn’t drunk since she was young, of sweat, and blood, but then - - maybe a little of Rio too. 

Jane hadn’t given her the chance to wash it, and Beth hadn’t had enough in her reserves to fight it – had instead just spritzed it with a disinfectant spray and hoped Jane wouldn’t put the thing in her mouth. 

(“That sort of stuff is good for their immune system anyway,” Annie had promised the next day, trying to guide Beth to the sofa for the third time. It had been no good though – sitting down meant stopping meant _thinking about it_, and the stupid way he wrote her name already haunted her sleep.) 

And then one night turns into a day turns into two days, and before she knows it, it’s been almost a week of the same – of compulsive baking, of only letting the kids out of her sight while they were at school, of even sending Dean to the dealership in her place because Beth couldn’t bear the sight of him, and then - - and then she gets the text. 

Patting down her flour-caked hands on her wrinkled apron, Beth’s heart leaps into her throat at the sight of his increasingly familiar number (does she know it by heart yet? She thinks she does), as she unlocks her phone screen and reads the message, and honestly, she’s not sure what she’s expecting, but it’s not an address. She blinks, staring down at it, waiting for any sort of follow-up, and when none of it comes, she sighs, swallowing her heart back down and clicking the call button in the corner of the message.

He lets it ring out the first time, like she doesn’t know he has his phone on him, like he hadn’t texted her seconds ago, and so she’s irritated, despite herself, the second time she hits call, jittery with energy when he answers, his voice drawling through the line.

“Yo.” 

Beth huffs out a _hi_, fingers curling in her apron at the sound of his voice, before adding: “If you want me to do a drop, I need more than just the address.” 

“Nah, you off those for a minute,” he tells her easily, and Beth sucks in a breath, her eyes darting down the hallway, and she knows she’s alone, knows the kids are at school and Dean’s at the office, but she can’t help the way she steps out of the open kitchen into the relative privacy of the laundry room, closing the door behind her. 

“So it’s what then?”

“You’ll see when you meet me there,” he replies. “School’s back in session, darlin’.” 

And that’s enough to leave her reeling, her back finding the wall, her free hand flattening on the top of the washing machine, because the last time he talked about _school_ was when he was holding her hands around a gun and teaching her to shoot and does he - - does he want her to _handle_ this guy? Is this punishment for going into the house? For making him go in too? For making him leave there with a baby blanket instead of the child she’d insisted was there. She inhales a little sharply, shifts her weight between her legs, tries to steel herself for - - for what, she has no idea. 

“I don’t know what that means,” she says finally, balling her hand into a fist and knocking it lightly down on the top of the washing machine – once, twice, three times. She swallows thickly, and she just wants to ask _why_, or maybe - - maybe she wants to say thank you too. God, maybe she needs to, but thank you has never been a word in their shared vocabulary, and she blinks hard, thinks she might say it anyway when Rio just clicks his tongue. 

“Don’t wear your usual shit, yeah? Wear your Lulu Lemon or whatever.” 

Beth blinks all over again – rapidly this time, shifts back against the wall, looks down at herself before she can help it – at her satin pyjama bottoms and her tank top and her wrinkled apron. She opens her mouth again, only this time what comes out is: 

“I don’t own any Lulu Lemon.” 

Honestly, she could never justify the spend on herself. Is he telling her she needs to buy some? Are they meeting someone with a stake in expensive women’s athleisurewear? She could almost laugh at the thought, but she’s not sure how well that would go over. Badly, probably, if the exasperated sigh crackling through her phone is anything to go by. 

“Elizabeth,” he says with another sigh. “Just somethin’ you can move in, yeah? Be there at 10.” 

“Tonight?” she asks, but he’s already hung up.

*

She has to put the minivan headlights on high beam to get a good enough look at the place and she’s not sure what she’s expecting, but, despite Rio’s instructions, it hadn’t been a _gym_. A trendy one at that, if the subtle sign and exposed brick walls are anything to go by, but the lights are all off, and the carpark would be completely empty if it wasn’t for Rio’s car parked close to the side of the building. She pulls the minivan into a park two spots down from it (just - - maybe parking in the spot _right_ next to it seems a bit much), and she’s tentative as she gets out, already regretting her pink floral leggings and her black tank top, the maroon hoodie she’d grabbed out of the laundry (it had passed the sniff test, and god, she didn’t really have anything else. _Something she could move in_, what did that even mean anyway?)

Clutching her purse to her chest, Beth starts towards the front door of the gym, trying the handle, but it won’t budge. With a frown, she steps back, but before she can so much as think, her phone buzzes in her hoodie pocket, and she pulls it out to find a text from Rio. 

_Round the back. Pin is 5683._

Blinking, Beth looks around, but there’s nobody in sight – not Rio, not a camera (at least, not one she can see), and not for the first time, she wonders if Rio has some sort of weird, clairvoyant power like a character from one of Kenny’s comic books. But then again, now doesn’t seem like the right time to be worrying about that. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, Beth darts around the side of the building, back through the carpark towards the back door. 

She finds it easily enough, punching in the pin, sucking in a breath when she hears the door unlock and - - _right_.

This is it. 

Pushing through the door, she’s honestly not really sure what she’s expecting here either, but it’s not to suddenly find herself in the mouth of a well-lit, tidy foyer. The smell of chlorine and cleaning chemicals hits her nose as she steps uncertainly in, taking in the unattended reception desk, the pop-up kiosk selling boxing gloves and swimming caps, the wall of hanging plants giving the space a fresh look that directly (deliberately) counteracts the smell. The whole place is _nice_ \- the sort of trendy, inner-city gym Beth’s only used to seeing on TV – usually in shows about famous housewives or property moguls. 

She’s still taking it in when a flash of black catches her eye, and she turns to see Rio striding down one of the joining hallways towards her, and just - - she flushes, swallows thickly. He’s the most casual she’s ever seen him in a pair of loose, dark grey sweats that sit low on his hips, a thin black tank that hangs off his wiry shoulders, catching at the jut of his collar bone, showing off his well-toned arms, the firm line of him that carries from the tilt of his head to the soles of his feet, and - - wait. 

Beth blinks. 

“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” 

She’s not sure why she’s expecting a reply, but she is, and when she gets none but Rio drumming his fingers against the door jam and jerking his head back down the hallway from where he’s just come, she can’t help but frown. Still, when he moves, so does she. 

The hallway is just as nice as the foyer, well-lit with long walls of exposed brick and huge glass sections peering into other rooms – showing off a weights room, a small class studio, a spin classroom. Beth cranes her neck to look into each one while trying to keep up with Rio’s long stride ahead of her, but finds nobody else in any of them. The thought is enough to make her bite the inside of her cheek, clutch her purse a little tighter to her side. Her gaze drifts back to Rio, finding only his long, narrow back, his bare arms swinging lightly, the thick black lines tattooed on the back of each one stark.

“What is this place?” she asks, and Rio tosses his head back to look at her, his eyebrow arched in amusement. 

“You ain’t ever been in a gym before?” 

The question is enough to make her blush, to remember the last time she was asked something like it – by Dean, of course Dean, and she knows it’s not Rio’s intent, _knows_ that, but still - - 

“I meant that it’s obviously closed,” she corrects quickly, watching as Rio stops at a door and promptly pushes it open to reveal a wide-open space. She steps through behind him, surprised to find the floor is springy, like the place where Emma does gymnastics. “And we’re here to what exactly?” 

“I own the place,” he tells her, like it’s nothing. “Take your shoes off.” 

Beth blinks, mind reeling, eyes darting around the room to take it in all over again. It _is_ stylish, young, but also classy, she’d thought as much when she’d come in through the back door, but a gym? Rio? 

“To launder money through?” she asks curiously, and Rio’s amusement only seems to grow. 

“It’s just a gym, ma. You gonna take your shoes off or what?” 

Beth frowns at him, but crouches down to untie the laces on her sneakers and pull them off anyway. Before she can stand back up, Rio gestures down to her socks as well, so she takes them off too. She looks around the room, spotting a black sports bag and a pair of converse that can only be his in the corner and she walks over to drop her sneakers and purse beside them. 

It’s not exactly a big room – maybe the size of her living room, and it’s markedly bare – nothing really but the exposed brick walls and the springy navy floor. There are a few pigeonhole boxes set up along the far wall, a drooping vine in a pot on top of it, but other than that, nothing to hold her attention. She turns back to see Rio watching her, bouncing just slightly on the balls of his feet. He stretches suddenly, cracks his upper back, his tank top riding up as he does it, exposing the sharp sides of his hip bones, the V of his groin poking out above his low-hanging sweatpants, and Beth flushes, looking away. After a moment, she clears her throat. 

“Are you planning on telling me why we’re here?” 

“Told you on the phone, didn’t I?” 

And Beth frowns again, trying to dredge up their phone conversation from this morning. She’d been busy after all, preoccupied, still, despite herself, frazzled. But then, when she _does_ remember, it doesn’t exactly clear anything up.

“So what?” Beth asks then, her gaze finding his face again as she arches an eyebrow, folds her arms over her chest, juts out a hip. “So this is another Lesson from the School of Rio?” 

He hums, grinning a little, like he likes the sound of that, and not for the first time, Beth wishes it was a real school not some quasi metaphorical nightmare one so she could petition the school board to have it shut down. 

“You gonna take your hoodie off?” he asks her, and Beth glances down at herself – at her pink floral leggings, her tank top, her comfy maroon hoodie. She glances back up at him.

“No,” she says, and he shrugs, like it doesn’t matter to him either way. 

“Rio - -” she starts, ready to ask him again what the hell they’re doing here, or maybe - - or maybe to ask him something else, when he promptly cuts her off. 

“What’d I tell you?” he asks her. “About those drops?” 

And god - - her breath hitches, she bites her lip. Vaguely, she remembers other conversations, remembers the way he’d often remind her, as he passed over keys and addresses, but they’re all thrust aside for the memory of the other night instead, for the barely contained fury on his face as he’d told her, authoritatively, that she’d gone in, the way he’d told her she was a drug dealer, just - - the way he’d _looked_ at her. She blinks hard, averts her gaze before she can help it. 

“Not to go in.” 

He hums. 

“And what’d you do?” 

At least she can always count on him to deliberately provoke her. She frowns, shifts her weight, rolls her eyes a little. 

“I went in. I thought –” 

“Nah, see, that’s the problem,” Rio drawls. “You didn’t think. And because you don’t think, and because you keep on refusin’ to keep that gun I gave you, you and me gotta work somethin’ else out.” 

“I learnt my lesson,” she tells him. “I won’t go in again.” 

Rio just laughs at that, somehow both bright and husky, entertained and pissed off in a way that always purely reminds her of him, and she’s embarrassed, and then she’s just pissed off too. 

“I don’t believe you,” he says, voice a little too loud. He tempers it quickly, softens it in a way she knows he means to be patronising. “All it’s gonna take is another blanket, your sister’s favourite lipstick, your friend’s weddin’ ring, and you runnin’ back in there like those guys gonna cancel their plans to help you look.” 

Beth stares at him, rocks her jaw, grits her teeth, because she _wouldn’t_, but she also - - she wouldn’t _not_ do it, and she hates that he knows it, can see it in her, can look at her and know any move she might make. She throws her arms out, her gaze not leaving his. 

“So what? You’re gonna start chaperoning me?” 

Rio shakes his head, but his eyes don’t leave hers, his lips twitching a little as he says: 

“Nah, ma, I’m gonna teach you how to fight.” 

And just - - 

_What?_

A bubble of laughter crests in her throat before she can stop it, her chin jerking back as she stares at him in disbelief. 

“What are you talking about?” she says, and when Rio doesn’t so much as react beyond another little hum, bouncing again, just slightly, on the balls of his feet, Beth flounders. 

“_No_,” she says, flailing. “I mean, I _can’t_.” 

“Why not?”

And then she just stops again, staring at him, because honestly, he can’t be serious. Those guys were huge – the sort of lumbering brawlers Beth’s prone to crossing the street to get away from. Hulking in size, in sheer _volume_, and she starts shaking her head as Rio continues.

“It ain’t ideal,” he tells her with a shrug. “Ideal’s you takin’ a gun, ideal’s you doin’ as you’re told and not goin’ in at all, but you keep on establishin’ that that ain’t an area you can be trusted in, so this is what’s left. You need to know how to throw a punch, you need to know how to break a hold, just enough to haul your ass out.” 

“Rio-” she starts again, but he quickly interjects.

“So you can get your girls out too.” 

And that shuts her up, just like he knew it would if the way his lips tug into a smug grin is anything to go by. She sucks in a breath, her legs suddenly jittery with energy – should she start stretching too? Warming up? Should she just _leave_? The chill of the air conditioning nips at her neck, her bare toes, makes them curl against the springy felt of the mat, and Beth just - - she flails. 

“I - - ” she waves an arm around, between them. “Rio, I - - ”

He pops an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to say anything more than a couple of vague, fragmented words, and she knows if she wanted to go that he’d let her, knows that if she yelled at him, he’d let her do that too, but he wouldn’t take excuses and somewhere, somehow, she knows that he’d take her off the drops forever. That he’d put her back in her place, in her office, _her little lane_, like she didn’t have what it takes to do _this_. 

Setting her jaw, she stares up at him, and she sees it, the twitch of his lips when he knows that he has her. Still, she says, “Fine,” and Rio’s grin only widens. He bounces a little on his toes again, looking her up and down again, only it’s different from how he normally does it. Less like he’s undressing her and more like he’s weighing her in, like he’s sizing her up, rocking his head back and forth as he does it. 

“Cool. Come on then.” 

With a flick of his wrist, he seems to gesture her over, only the second Beth finds her feet, starting towards him, he shakes his head. 

“Nuh, come at me like you would if you had to. Like I’m blockin’ an exit or threatenin’ one of your girls, yeah?” 

Beth blinks, eyes wide, shaking her head, opening her mouth as she does it, but no words come out. Her shoulders sag a little, a flush finding her chest, and just - - god, she thinks. 

“Rio - - ” 

“Gotta know where we startin’ from,” he says, voice deceptively neutral, and Beth stares at him, because despite his serious tone, she can see it, the amusement sparking on his face. Her flush deepens, and she resists the urge to fiddle with the zipper of her hoodie – to check it really is the whole way up, to hide her visible embarrassment. 

“I can promise you it’s from zero,” Beth says, hoping the words come off as dry as she wants them to, and Rio only laughs. 

“I dunno, baby, you threw those keys pretty hard.”

She blushes properly this time, the colour finding her neck, cheeks, the shells of her ears, surprised at him bringing it up. They’ve never spoken about it after all – not that night with the van, and the memory hits her as sharp as the keys had him, all those months ago. She shifts her weight, exhales, looks at him, and just - - okay. She nods sharply. 

She tries to remember any sort of stance, any sort of move she’s seen in movies, bouncing a little on her toes like a boxer, like he’s been doing, bending her elbows, balling her hands into fists in front of her, and Rio just watches her, his lips twitching, like this is really _funny_ \- - and no, okay, don’t think, Beth, just _do_. 

She runs at him. 

Next thing she knows her legs are out from under her and she’s flailing backwards, the only thing stopping her from colliding with the floor the set of Rio’s grip, suddenly curled tight in the fabric at the belly of her hoodie. He laughs, _completely_ delighted, and god, Beth must be as pink as her leggings. 

She hadn’t even seen him _move_. 

Her feet grappling with the floor, she finds enough of a grip to stand up properly again, slapping at Rio’s hands, futilely trying to get him to let her go.

“You had a plan in mind then or you just gonna run at me on a prayer?” 

“You _told me to_ \- - ” she stops herself, huffs, her fingers prying at his, trying to get him to let her go still, but he won’t just yet, and just - - god, why are they standing this close? Her breath hitches, and she hits his hand again. When that doesn’t work, she glares up at him, dropping her hands to her sides in surrender.

“You know your teaching leaves a lot to be desired,” she says, squinting up at him, and Rio’s grin only widens. 

“A teacher’s only as good as his student.” 

Beth snorts, shaking her head. 

“That is categorically untrue,” she replies, and Rio laughs beneath his breath, his hands finally releasing her hoodie, but before Beth can feel too relieved, can step away, Rio’s grabbing her hands instead, holding them neatly in the space between their bodies. 

“First thing,” he tells her. “You keep your thumb outta your fist, not in it. Fastest way to break the thing.” 

Beth blinks, glancing down at her hand, watching him as he unballs her fist, repositions it until her thumb sits on top of it, curled just slightly around the knuckle of her first finger. Her chest tightens as he does it, blinking up at him through her lashes, and Rio looks down at her, a small grin on his face. 

“Second, you gotta think about what you’re doin’,” he tells her. “You don’t, you gonna end up on your ass. I ain’t gonna catch you this time.” 

The words are enough to make her huff, and Rio’s grin only widens as he lets her go, the movement letting her exhale sharply, only to inhale when he steps easily behind her, his hands finding her hips, keeping her steady as his foot moves up between her legs to kick them apart. 

“You gotta keep your legs wide too, yeah? Keep ‘em together, you too easy to throw off balance. You want to give yourself a base, but not keep ‘em so wide you can’t move easy.” 

Her legs suddenly feel too stiff, immovable, _hot_, and it only serves to make him lower one of his hands to her thighs, pull it out a bit, his own leg coming a little further up, until his knee is nudging between her upper thighs, spreading out her stance. It’s enough to make her nod a little strangely, clear her throat, to try and think of anything but his hands on her, shifting her into position. When he’s happy, he hums, the sound vibrating just above her ear, his breath warm at her hair as he moves his hands from her hips to her shoulders. 

“This feel okay?” he asks her, and Beth nods stiffly, shifting her weight a little between her parted legs, flushing when Rio makes an approving sound behind her. “Cool. So your arms - -” 

He glides his hands from her shoulders to her biceps, gently pushing them into her sides before he moves his hands underneath them, the span of them so big the tips of his fingers brush the awkward bones of her elbows.

“You don’t want chicken wings.” 

To accentuate his point, he jerks her arms up again, hovering them almost parallel to her shoulders, flaps them her arms just once before he pushes them back into her sides. 

“You wanna keep ‘em like this – close to you, so you don’t strain nothin’, and so you in control, and you wanna be aimin’ to hit ‘em with your first two knuckles. They’re the strongest. These little ones, they just gonna break.” 

He ghosts a hand up to her forearm, jerking it forwards, and Beth almost goes with it, feeling the force of the punch in his grip. His other hand drops her left arm, curling around her waist, flattening at her belly, pulling her just slightly back against him, and Beth sucks in a breath, looks up to the ceiling, hopes - - prays he can’t feel her fluttering heart. 

“Keep your core tight too, yeah? Like you plankin’ in Pilates, or whatever it is you do. Tighter it is, the better your base, and the better your defence. One of these guys, they gonna try and hit you here, get you doubled over, winded. Or they gonna get you here.” 

He moves his hand from her belly to flick up beneath her chin. 

“Get the room spinnin’ on you.” 

And just like that, he lets her go, wandering around her to face her again. He tilts his head, looking at her, and then lowers himself into a pose that mirrors her, sinks into his legs, shortening himself until he’s almost eye level with her. He holds up his hands – palms open to her, and tilts his chin. 

“Try again.” 

Beth blinks, looks down at her legs, at her arms, tightens her belly, and - - it’s now or never, right? She throws a punch straight into his open hand, and he catches it, his hand engulfing her own, shaking his head from side to side. 

“Check your arms, yeah? Keep it quick, keep it tight. You move too slow, or move ‘em too far out to the sides, I can see it comin’. Predict it, then I know how to stop it.” 

He lets go of her fist. 

“Try again.” 

Was this what he did with those men at the house? Did he hit them? Did he predict their weaknesses, their false steps? Beth clears her throat, her skin prickly to the touch, her cheeks still flushed, tries not to think of anything but the here and now of it, of his words and not his touch, of him, and not them, of the canny, too easy focus of him. The beacon he is in the dark of her thoughts. She throws another punch, and he catches her fist again, but this time, he nods. 

“Better.” 

And Beth exhales, can’t help it, the stranger pride unfurling in her belly, the warmth there that makes her grin, and when she looks up at him, he grins a little back, and it unlocks something in her chest like a key. 

“Again?” Beth asks, and Rio nods, opening his hand to release her own. 

They go through it another few times, until he stands up straighter, gets her hitting up, and then lower on him, until her arms are aching and her knuckles bruised, and then he shows her how to stretch them out. After that, he takes her through the steps on how to block a punch instead – one to the face, or the stomach, shows her how to cover her face but not her line of vision, so that she can see them, so she can look for an exit, and it surprises her – the serious with which he takes teaching her this. More than that. What surprises her most is the stuttered ease with which she picks it up.

*

It must’ve been an hour, maybe even two, when they stop for a break.

She’s pretty sure Rio could keep going – would want to even, but then again, Beth is pretty sure Rio never runs out of energy. Patience, sure, but she’s long past the point of chalking up Rio’s seemingly never-ending reserves to anything she can explain.

(“I bet he can go all night,” Annie had said a couple of weeks ago, waggling her eyebrows, a few wines in. “I mean, the guy has stamina on the streets, no way he doesn’t have them in the sheets too.” 

Beth had only glared, her cheeks pink, before she’d excused herself to furiously wash some dishes, the idea of Rio’s _stamina_ too much to bear). 

Still, he must’ve seen Beth’s arms starting to wobble, seen her slowing down, the flush at her cheeks from some mixture of heat and exhaustion instead of sheer embarrassment, and so he calls it. 

And okay, Beth’s more relieved than she cares to admit, folding down gracelessly onto the springy floor of the studio, resisting the urge to flop over onto her back as she watches Rio jog over to his sports bag, coming back with a bottle of water. He takes a swig, eyeing Beth off carefully. 

“You got one?” he asks, waving his bottle at her, and Beth shakes her head – hadn’t realised she’d need one (and god, it’d be nice if Rio ever felt the desire to so much as _imply_ a timeframe or like, an indication of physical activity, or _something_). Still, the gesture is enough to make him offer his bottle down to her, and Beth only hesitates for a second before she takes it, the cool water chilling her throat as she tries not to think about the warmth of the lip of the bottle – of his mouth, pressed against it. 

And okay, maybe she isn’t entirely successful with that. 

She splutters a little at the cap, cheeks growing red as water spills from the corners of her mouth, dribbles down her chin, spots on the chest of her hoodie, and Rio casts her an amused glance in response. He opens his mouth to say something, but Beth just waves a hand up at him. 

“Please don’t,” she says with a groan, capping the bottle and passing it back up to him. Rio makes a point of pressing his lips together in response, and if he was inclined to any sort of goofiness, Beth thinks he might fake-zip them too. Still, she’s grateful for the quiet, finally caving to flop backwards onto the mat, trying to stretch out the tension in her back. She keeps her back flat on the mat as she twists at the waist, getting her top leg folded over the other. She sucks in a breath, feeling the tightness there already. She puts a hand on her hip, pushing it up, over, deepening the stretch, and for a minute, she almost forgets Rio is watching her until she feels a familiar heat prickle at her neck. 

He’s still standing above her, tall like this, lean and wiry, his gaze fixed on the twist of her waist and the curve of her ass. He folds his arms back, almost likes wings, stretching out his arms, his traps, before rubbing a hand over the back of his head, pushing it down to stretch out the back of his neck. Beth watches the muscles shift, the tendons, watches the bird wings flex close to his jawline. A pearl of sweat beads at his forehead, starts to drip, but before it can get far, Rio’s lifting the hem of his tank top, pulling it up to rub his face, and Beth almost throws her neck with how quickly she tears her gaze away from the firm ripples of his abs. 

“Do you do this a lot?” she asks quickly, breaking up the quiet, swapping the side of her own stretch, and Rio glances down at her, his eyebrow raised, his shirt still pulled up. 

“Do what a lot?” he replies, and god, Beth doesn’t even know – fight, teach people to fight, teach _women_ to fight. Before she can stop herself, she’s back in the backseat of her minivan, watching him hug another woman through her windshield and just - - god, Beth, _stupid_. She sits up on the floor, ignoring the way her body screams at her for how quickly she’d leapt out of the stretch (and maybe for other reasons too), focuses instead on the heat of herself in her hoodie, the dribble of sweat at her chest, and she should just take it off, but then - - her gaze finds Rio again, the firmness of his exposed abdomen, remembers the look of the other woman, and quickly darts away. 

Maybe she should leave it on. 

“All of it,” she says after a minute, and Rio just shrugs above her, finally – thankfully – dropping his shirt back down and taking a swig of his water. 

“Depends on how you define a lot. You gonna get up?” 

And god - - even the thought is enough to make Beth groan, so she does, ignoring the way that Rio laughs, his throat husky as he gently tosses his water bottle in a neat arc towards the back of the room, watching it hit its target – his sports bag – perfectly. 

“You can stay down there if you want,” he tells her easily. “Wanna see how you do on the ground anyway.” 

“On the ground?” Beth asks, eyebrow raised, and Rio hums in agreement, amusement leaking out of his every pore as he bounces briefly on his toes again. 

“Yeah, see, it’s good to know the fundamentals, but most of these guys, they ain’t gonna be fightin’ like some ref there dockin’ points for fouls. They’re gonna be fightin’ to put you down.” 

Even the thought is enough to make Beth bite the inside of her cheek, to look up at him again. She’s not stupid – she knows the only reason she got her, Annie and Ruby out of the house last week was through the power of bullshit. Was through those men not knowing enough about her to think what she was spouting was anything but the truth, but then - - how long would that last? 

It certainly hadn’t lasted long on Rio. 

She looks up at him, and she doesn’t know what look is on her face, but whatever it is, it’s enough to make him stop bouncing, to pause whatever giddy gleefulness he’s been taking from this situation. He tilts his head down at her, rocks his jaw a little, before finally letting loose a sigh. 

“Elizabeth, I ain’t teachin’ you to start nothin’. This? It’s about gettin’ out. It’s about gettin’ your lady friends out. That’s all.” 

“And then what?” Beth asks, gesturing widely out between them. “After I - - _punch_ them. I get out. And then what? What if they show up at my house? Worse - - what’ll it mean for our business?” 

“That ain’t none of your concern,” he tells her, and Beth scowls up at him, irritation sparking in her belly, because really, that’s not an answer she wants to hear, but Rio keeps on before she has much time to think any more of it. “Now you comin’ up here, or am I comin’ down there?” 

And well, Beth thinks. 

Isn’t that the question?

*

“So there’s a few ways this guy’s gonna get ahold of you, yeah?”

The way he says it is light, easy, like he’s talking about the specials at a restaurant, and Beth resists the urge to shuffle on her feet, to bounce on her toes like he was before, to balk beneath the casual way he circles her. He leans in close suddenly, and Beth jumps a little, only for him to move and tug on the drawstring of her hoodie. 

“You really gonna keep this on?” 

Beth blinks, surprised, before tugging the lace out of his grip. 

“Can you stop with my - - ”

But before she can finish the words, he’s around her back again, yanking her into his chest, grabbing her wrists firmly in one hand, the other settling on her upper stomach, at her diaphragm. Beth’s feet kick against the floor before she can help it, her arms yanking, trying to break free of his hold, but he keeps her back against him like it’s nothing. 

“Either like this,” he says lightly, and then, just as quick, drops her wrists, moves that arm to her neck instead, circling it loose enough it doesn’t hurt, but tight enough that, on instinct, her hands drop to grab his arm. “Or this.” 

Beth exhales, heart loud in her ears, her body too hot in the firmness of his grip, in the steadiness of it, and she finds herself bristling. Endless nervous tension erupting out of her pores, and she squirms back against him, and Rio lets her. 

“You ain’t ever gonna be able to break a hold,” Rio says. “Not on the sorta guy that we dealin’ with. You just ain’t got that strength, darlin’.” 

Beth is still trying to catch her breath when Rio lets her go, wanders back around to face her. He crosses her arms over her chest again, in front of her this time, holds them there firm. 

“What you wanna be doin’ is tryna loosen their grip, not break it. Loosen it enough, you can wriggle out.” 

He jerks at her arms then – the point where they cross at her chest.

“Keep strainin’ here, distract ‘em, but what you really wanna be focusin’ on is movin’. Not thrashin’ or nothin’, but movin’, and movin’ lots of different ways. Test their grip for weak spots, get ‘em loosenin’ their arms before they can help it. Enough until you can slip right out. You get me?” 

And she mostly does, she thinks, nodding, blowing her hair up off her face, and Rio catches it, of course he does, but instead of letting her go, he just lifts the hand not holding her arms together to push her hair back off her face himself. She blinks up, meeting his gaze, feeling the brush of his fingers against her forehead, and just - - 

She shakes her head, shifts beneath his grip, and he promptly lets her go. 

“Here,” he says quickly, turning his back to her and reaching for her arms, pulling them around himself and Beth’s chest into his back in the process. “I’ll show you. Hold onto me, yeah?” 

Beth flushes, nods, feels him shift back into her, her face almost colliding with the sweaty patch of his tank top between his shoulder blades, her breasts squashing against the lower part of his back, and there’s no way he can’t feel them, and just - - god, Beth clenches her eyes shut. Tries to will her blush away. 

“Come on, ma,” Rio says sharply above her, away from her, and Beth catches her breath, clamps her arms around him as best she can, and Rio pushes his weight against them, instantly breaking her grip. He huffs, almost irritated, before he grabs her arms again, circling them back around his chest. “You can do better than that.” 

Right, Beth thinks, frowning as she grounds her feet, opening her arms until Rio pushes his back up against her chest again, waiting for her to circle them around him. She tightens it as best she can, gripping one hand around her own wrist to form a tight link, and when he lurches forwards this time, her hold stays firm, even if she does stumble behind him. 

“Cool, now see what I’m doin’?” 

He pushes forwards slightly, then sideways, backwards, forwards again, faster and faster, jerking her with him until her grip loosens despite itself, and then he pushes back, suddenly harder than before, breaking her grip entirely and knocking her back onto the floor with a squawk. She falls hard on her ass, bounces a bit on the mat, looking up in time to see him spin around on the spot, to level her with a pleased grin. 

“That easy,” he says, holding up his hands, and Beth rolls her eyes, clambering back to her feet, watching as Rio watches her. She moves to get behind him again, but he shakes his head, pushing her shoulder so that she turns around and pressing against her back. He gets her arms folded against her chest again, and Beth sucks in a breath, feeling his breath hot against the back of her neck, just like in the bathroom, the heat in her rushing low, and - - god, _no_, Beth. She clears her throat.

“You try it,” Rio says behind her, waiting for her to start, and at his prompting, Beth jerks forwards then sideways in his grip like he’d done, feeling his arms shift around her, before she pushes back into his chest, feeling the solid line of him, and she’s blushing, she knows she’s blushing, and she pushes forwards hard, breaking his hold too easily, and stumbling forwards. 

“See? You a natural,” he says with a grin, when Beth spins around. 

“You let me go,” she tells him, and Rio shrugs. 

“Yeah, well you ain’t gonna break my grip, so,” he rolls out a hand at the wrist and Beth’s eyebrows shoot up, her jaw drops open. “Anyway, there are a couple of other things you can - -” 

“Excuse me, you don’t know that I couldn’t break your grip,” Beth says sharply, interrupting him, and Rio stops, looks at her, at the tilt of her jaw and the set of her shoulders, and then just _laughs_. 

“Oh, sorry, darlin’, you’re right, you’re right,” he says, quickly placating. “Okay, so let’s say you broke it already, and me or one o’ these guys grabbed you again, and that trick ain’t gonna work a second time because they know it, well, then you got a couple of other options.” 

Beth frowns at him, but huffs out a breath, letting it slide. She doesn’t interrupt again when Rio lifts his leg and waggles a foot at her. 

“Stomp on his foot.” 

He drops his leg and then lifts one of his arms just slightly away from his waist, bending it and jerking it sharply back into the air behind him. 

“Enough room, elbow him – guts or junk, whatever you can get to.” 

Then he knocks his head back. 

“Headbutt him. Get his jaw good. You gotta be careful with that one though to make sure you don’t hurt yourself worse than you hurt him.” 

“Right,” Beth says, nodding. She shifts her weight, finds herself feeling out the movements in her own body – her foot, her elbow, her head. “And when I’ve got him off me?” 

“You get out of there. Quick as you can.”

“What if they’re blocking the exit?” 

“You throw a punch or you grab a gun.” 

“What if I can’t get a gun?” 

She means it offhand, a natural progression from the conversation they were having, but the words sit heavy in the space between them, seem to echo off the walls of the gym, hold tight between them, and it surprises her. Rio’s loaded silence – and she feels it maybe – cocked and aimed right at her. 

Beth looks away, swallows thickly. Somewhere above her, Rio exhales a breath. 

“Come on,” he tells her. “Turn around, let’s try it again.” 

Beth does, feeling him grab her from behind again, pull her back into his chest. He crosses her arms against her own chest again, and Beth copies the motion from before, the shifting of her weight, and he doesn’t break his hold quite so easily this time, and when he does, she stumbles a few steps sideways, struggling to regain her balance.

“Again,” Rio says, and so they do it again, and then again, until the weight of Rio against her back feels almost natural, the path of the movements like she’s following a GPS, practiced and just - - god, did Rio take his gun back into the house? Of course he did. Did he shoot somebody? Are those men even alive anymore? Is it her fault? Are they dead over a blanket? She never should’ve gone to Rio, she never should’ve gone back in, she never should’ve taken her kids in the first place. 

She breaks Rio’s grip, slipping forwards, still lost in her thoughts, only this time, she finds herself being yanked back with an arm around her neck, shoulders colliding with Rio’s sternum, making her gasp. 

“You gettin’ distracted. You get distracted, you’re mine, you hear me?” he hums into her ear. “And if you up against one of these guys’, you’re as good as dead.” 

Flailing in his grip, Beth breathes a little wetly, a little shortly, her arms coming up behind her head, trying to hit him in his, and Rio just snorts above her. 

“Shit, see? You ain’t ever fuckin’ listenin’. We just talked about this,” and she can hear the lecture building on his tongue, the script of it coming in hot and fast, and Beth’s still flailing, shifting in his grip, and she fumbles a leg back, tries to stomp on his foot, because she _was_ listening, but he dances them out of her reach. “Like I told you, darlin’, a teacher’s only as good as - - ” 

And just - - she bites him. 

_Hard._

Rio swears, yanking away from her, and Beth darts forwards only she doesn’t get far, because suddenly Rio’s grabbing her by the hood of her hoodie, yanking her back towards him, and Beth moves as quickly as she can, unzipping it and awkwardly jerking her body out of it, tearing her arms out of the sleeves, stumbling forwards as she does it. Her cheeks are bright red as she runs towards the other side of the mat, spinning around on the spot to face him. 

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t so much as shifted, and her chest is heaving as she eyes off his arm, the bright red mark her teeth have left there, before she drags her gaze up to meet his. And he’s just staring right back at her, her hoodie limp in his grip, and then they’re just - - watching each other, the air between them suddenly thick as Rio bundles up her hoodie and tosses it to the side – to where her shoes and her purse sit with his sneakers and his duffel. 

“Okay,” he says after a minute, breathing out a little hoarsely, and Beth squares her shoulders, tilts up her chin, and she doesn’t even know what she has to prove right now, just knows that there’s something in her that feels tightly coiled, feels _hot_, boiling even, and she doesn’t even have the words to unpack that. “Usin’ your teeth like that with these guys is a fast way to lose ‘em.” 

Beth stares at him, unblinking, shrugging a little stiffly, a little pretend, like she’s telling him he won’t get his pills, like he’s the one throwing a tantrum when - - okay, maybe they both are now. The air between them feels thick with tension, with something unresolved, and she’s starting to think that maybe Rio driving off the other night hadn’t been the end of that fight in the alley – maybe this was. She squares her shoulders. 

“Well, he’d have to get close enough again to knock them out, wouldn’t he?” she says, setting her jaw, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her, a look of pissed off amusement crossing his face as he takes her in. He leans a little forward, almost casual, and sparks of irritation catch in Beth’s gut. 

“Oh, so you think you know better already, huh?” 

His tone is cloying, deliberately probing, and Beth rolls her eyes, resists the urge to jut out a hip, keeps her body poised like he’s just shown her. 

“You know, it’s one thing to teach me the rules of fighting and like, the - - the _form_ of punching or whatever, but it’s another thing to treat me like I’m a child. Believe it or not, I wasn’t born the day I met you. I’ve been taking care of myself for longer than you’ve been alive, so maybe - -” 

And then he’s stepping forwards, lightning fast, and the words catch in Beth’s throat and then she’s stumbling back before she can stop herself, even as her head is yelling at herself to firm her step. She doesn’t have time to though, not when he reaches out a hand to grab her arm. She slaps his hand away and instantly, like he’d predicted the movement, he grabs her arm with his other hand, sweeps her legs and drops her heavily to the floor. 

She lands with an _oof_, the air escaping her lungs, as pain shoots across her shoulders, sets heavily across where she landed on her ass. She’s still gasping for breath when Rio stops to stand above her, staring down at her, smug in his satisfaction. 

“You’re a jerk,” she hisses, still short of breath, reaching sideways to grab his ankle, yank him down with her, but he’s too quick – dancing away from her again. 

“You know you talk a lot?” 

With a scowl, Beth shifts her weight on the floor, pushing herself up as Rio circles away from her again, giving her the space to stand. She watches as he takes her in, his gaze dragging down her body, taking in her slightly-too-small tank top – it’s been a while since she’s had the time to work out with any sort of seriousness – the way her breasts seem to almost bulge over the neck of it, and Beth is glad at least that she’s so flushed already with the exertion that she can blame any fresh blush on that. 

But also - - his gaze is fixed on them now, and hell, Beth knows an opportunity when she sees one. 

As soon as she’s standing, she springs forwards, arms tight at her sides like he’d taught her, reaching forwards to clip him only to have him grab her by the wrists again, this time yanking her hard against him, enough that the softness of her chest hits the firmness of his, enough that she gets a mouthful of his sweat damp shirt. Her arms flail briefly in his grip, but he holds them tight, and she tastes his laugh before she hears it, feels it rumble against her mouth. 

“Almost, baby,” he purrs, and Beth scowls, jerking her wrists from his grip and she’s planning on striding back over towards her own bag when she clocks the sharkish look in his eyes, and she’s only just summoned up the energy to dart away when he tries to pounce on her again. She does a quick two step sideways, heart beating in her throat when she dodges him, when she sees him slow again, almost sauntering a few paces away, his movements easy as he watches her, and Beth keeps her shoulders firm, moving a step away for every step he tries to move closer. 

“Better,” he tells her, and Beth exhales sharply, the tension setting in her limbs as they circle each other. 

“You know you talk a lot?” she echoes, putting on her best imitation of him, and Rio laughs, squinting a little, and it’s enough to make Beth rush forwards again, and this time when Rio grabs her, he crushes her sideways against his body, trapping one of her arms between them while the other flails out, tries to shove off him. He secures one of his arms around her waist, the other grabbing her flailing one, forcing it back against her side, and just - - Beth exhales in frustration. Rio though? Rio just laughs. 

“Damn, ma,” he tells her with a grin, his voice a little hoarse as he looks down at where he’s got her trapped against his chest. “You something else, you know that?” 

Scowling up at him, Beth tests his grip, but he’s holding it too firm, and god, she hates that that curls somewhere low in her, finds a place to grow _hot_, and she moves again, trying to loosen his grip, trying to move the arm that he has trapped between the two of them, feels the tight line of his chest and his abs at her arm, the soft cotton of his sweat pants and then something decidedly _not_ soft and - - Beth blinks, rocking her jaw. 

The air conditioning hums above them as she turns just enough to look up at Rio through her lashes, in time to see another lecture building on his tongue, but before he can get a word out, she turns the hand trapped between them and cups him through his sweatpants. He sucks in a breath, and god, he’s already half-hard, and it’s all it takes for Beth to realise she’s wet (and just - - wow - - okay, how long has she been _wet_ for? No, no time for that,) and she strokes him once, twice, and the second his grip on her loosens, Beth stumbles away triumphantly. 

“Nuh,” he laughs hoarsely behind her, going to grab her again, and before Beth even knows what she’s doing, she’s twisting around, arms poised like he’s taught her and then - - then she’s clipping him in the jaw. 

The movement seems to happen in slow motion, her knuckles colliding with his cheek, the sharpness she feels at the contact, and then Rio’s blinking at her, surprised, and then, just as quickly, he’s on her, yanking her around until her back is against his chest again, his hands quickly finding her arms, crossing them across her own chest, holding them there. 

She tries to spring her arms out, like before, but he keeps his hold up this time, effortless in his strength, and Beth’s breath hitches. 

“I got you,” she tells him, her voice thick, and he hums in agreement, arms tightening around her. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, laughing hoarsely, his breath hot against her neck. “Dirty move though.” 

“You’re the one who said nobody was docking points for fouls,” she insists, breath catching again as he pulls her tighter against him, his cock pushing into her back, and Beth has to bite back a moan. She feels jittery all of a sudden, static almost with her own desire. Now that she knows how wet she is, it’s all she can feel, the heat from his touch, the way he’s rolled around with her, the way he _likes it_ when she gets one over him almost as much as he likes getting one over her (never quite as much, she thinks, but then, she thinks she might be the same, only in reverse.) 

She breathes out a shaky breath, feeling one of his hands slide down her belly, then just beneath it, just enough to push up her tank, just enough to hook a thumb in the waistband of her leggings. This time she can’t bite back the moan, and he practically vibrates against her neck, and just - - god, she rises up on her tip toes to try and close the distance between them, to push her ass back against his crotch, and when he feels the movement, he holds her up like that too, until she’s straining on her toes against him, until she can feel him against her, even through the layers of their clothes.

He shudders in a breath of his own, burying his face in her hair, and her eyes flutter shut when she feels his lips at her neck, and she wants him, she wants him, she wants him, she - - 

“I got you,” he purrs, and then – a little victory in his tone – adds, “Told you you couldn’t break my grip, huh?” 

And just - - Beth’s eyes snap back open, something hot sparking in her gut. She drops heavily down to her toes, pulling her ass away from him, and Rio makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat, trying to pull her back up, but then she’s pulling forwards as he’s holding onto her. He’s barely breaking a sweat behind her, and as quickly as she can manage so as not to give him a chance to clue in, she moves her foot enough to hook behind his ankle, and with as much momentum as she can muster, she throws herself backwards and yanks up his ankle. 

It’s enough to send him backwards, her weight on top of him, and he lets go enough to break his fall and shield his crotch from her falling weight. Beth scrambles to get off him, but he’s grabbing her again, not by her belly this time, but with a flailing hand hooking in the back of her leggings. Beth gasps, feeling his skin against her lower back, his fingers grabbing not only her leggings, but her _panties_, almost tugging them down as he tries to get a better grip on her again, and Beth can’t even move without either pushing his hand against her ass or showing him it, and so scrambles backwards into him again, trying to grab his wrist, but that only gives him the time to get a leg over her and roll her face first into the mat, his chest against her back, her arm now pinned between them 

He’s still catching his breath behind her as she writhes back, tries to push up off the floor only to have him press his hips down against her ass, holding her in place with them as he repositions over her, his breath hot in her ear. 

“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t play by the rules.” 

“And I should’ve figured you’d be a sore loser,” she hisses back at him. 

That’s enough to make him laugh darkly into her hair, shift again at her back, and she sucks in a breath, feels herself get wetter again when he rolls his cock hard against her ass. 

“You wet, darlin’?” he purrs, pushing his weight down on her wrists. “I bet you are, huh? Bet you were drippin’ when you thought you had me.” 

A noise escapes her mouth that she wishes she could take back, and Rio just laughs, loosening his grip just enough that Beth can wriggle out from underneath him, twist around, shove him onto his back and straddle him. She grabs his hands, pushes them up above his head, holds him there, and he just looks up at her, a wide grin on his face. He sucks in his lower lip, nods, faux serious. 

“Yeah, just like that.” 

Her chest is heaving as she glares down at him, and she hates that he looks nothing but pleased by this turn of events, hates how much she loves how hard he is right now, hates how easy it is to push back, to grind her cunt down against him, and god, she’ll be embarrassed tomorrow – is embarrassed _now_, but it’s easy to put it aside when Rio’s looking up at her, his stare hot, and Beth stares back, and then - - 

God, it’s too easy for him to break her hold on him, to bring a hand up to palm too softly at her breast, to slip a hand into the front of her pants, her panties, to press a rough finger against her clit. She keens, clenching her eyes shut and balling her fist in his shirt when she feels the first sparks of pleasure at his touch and then he’s hushing her, sitting up, sitting her in his lap as he yanks the neck of her tank top down beneath her breasts, pressing open mouthed kisses into the swell of them over her sports bra. 

She breathes in a shaky breath, hand grabbing his wrist, slapping at his forearm, just wanting - - wanting _more_, but he seems to take it as _stop_, and he yanks his hand out, goes to move away, but Beth is shaking her head, babbling nonsense and she has no idea what she’s saying, all she knows is that it’s enough for Rio to flip her onto her back on the mat, for him to kick off his sweat pants, yank off her leggings, and then he’s biting her collar bone - - and then he’s pulling one of her bra cups down to thumb rough at her nipple - - and then he’s inside her. 

Beth gasps, writhing back against the mat, overwhelmed at the suddenness, at the thickness, the length of him, the roll of his hips something firm and welcoming, and something that feels too good, too familiar, and god, it shouldn’t, because it’s only been once before this, in that awful, wonderful bathroom, but she doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without it - - without _him_. 

She scratches at his neck, pulling him closer, and Rio lets her, his mouth still on her chest, sucking hickies into the soft skin there. She wraps her legs around his waist, heels dipping into his lower back until he grabs one of her thighs, pulls it up higher, almost to his armpit and vaguely she thinks she’s glad this place is empty, because she thinks the noise she makes could probably be heard for miles, but she can’t even bring herself to care – the angle is so much _better_ now. 

Digging her nails into the back of his neck, she fucks herself down on his cock just to hear him groan, just to feel him everywhere – just until the only sound she can hear are the hoarse breaths he lets out against her neck, and vaguely she thinks this should be furious, competitive, something, but all she wants is him deeper, and all Rio seems to want is to plant himself somewhere inside her that she can’t unroot him, and stupid, she thinks, nearly hysterical, lost in his strokes, in the thrust of his hips, on the wet lap of his mouth – she doesn’t think she could if she wanted to. 

His thrusts grow faster, harder, more erratic, so forceful that Beth’s making yipping sounds trying to catch her breath, her back and shoulders burned by the felt flooring of the studio, her breasts red from his mouth, and then his hand finds her clit again, coaxing her to an orgasm in a few nimble touches, and as she clenches around his cock, he comes too, exhaling sharply on top of her. 

It takes him a minute to pull out, and Beth takes that minute just to watch him – to lose herself in the fan of his lashes, the small bruise forming at his jaw already, the one from her fist, and before she can help herself, she lowers a hand to touch it. The gesture of it is enough to make him look up at her sharply, a little hotly, to give her a look she doesn’t recognise, and something in her aches, but then he’s pulling out a bit too fast, enough that she gasps and he shoots her an apologetic look, collapsing onto the mat beside her. 

And then - - 

And then they’re just there, lying beside each other on the mat, fucked out and tired, bruised in more ways than one. Somewhere outside of here, there’s a night, and there’s home. Her children are asleep – Jane with her dubby, because of Rio, and then, before she can stop the thought, Beth wonders where Marcus is tonight, if Rio tucked him into bed like Beth did her own children before they came here and fought and fucked and just - - god, what sort of thought is that to have right now? 

Beth sucks in a breath, moving a shaky hand down to pull her bra back up, then her tank, trying not to look at Rio, who she knows is watching. She’s about to pull up her panties when Rio suddenly pulls off his shirt, pushing it between her legs, cleaning her up as best he can, his movements gentle, the fabric soft, and Beth does look at him then, her eyes wide, and Rio just shrugs. 

“No tissues here, but I got a change of clothes in my bag,” he says, shrugging lightly, voice hoarse, and Beth gives him a shy smile, nodding in what she hopes is gratitude, but then - - then that doesn’t feel like enough. Not with everything – not with the dubby still weighing so potently in her mind, and she couldn’t thank him before, but maybe - - maybe now - - 

“Thanks,” she whispers, and she just hopes that he hears the weight in it, but Rio just laughs, warm and amused, glancing back up at her. 

“It ain’t all you, mami. Both our mess to clean up, yeah?” he hums, light, affectionate almost, and she frowns deeply, because it’s not what she meant at all, and then all the lightness is gone from his look and he’s frowning too, his forehead creasing, like he doesn’t quite understand, and she just - - she can’t say it. She pushes his hand out from between her legs, pulls up her underwear, her leggings, and sits up. 

“I should probably get home,” she says, rubbing a little at her arms. She really wants her hoodie. She wants her bed, she wants - - she glances back at Rio, and it’s so sudden – the tear it opens up inside her. 

She looks away. 

She can’t want _that_. 

Quick as anything, Rio pulls his sweats back on, grabs his soiled tank and gets up. He offers a hand out to her, and despite her better judgement, Beth takes it, lets him pull her up, lets him walk her back over to their bags, and they sit side-by-side as they pull on their shoes. Beth slips her hoodie back on and Rio pulls on a clean t-shirt from his sports bag, and sooner rather than later, they’re walking back down the hallway in silence. 

Outside, the night air nips at her ankles, making the sweat at the back of her neck cold, and Beth shivers, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself. They make it around the side of the building to the carpark, the silence weighing heavy between them until Rio huffs out a laugh, seeing Beth’s minivan parked – one spot over – from his own, and Beth just gives him a vaguely bashful look because - - god, it seems so silly now. 

Giving him an awkward wave and a mumbled good night, Beth spins, fumbling in her purse for her keys and letting herself into the driver’s seat of her van. She’s already trying to think of a place she can pull over and just catch her breath, how easily she’ll be able to sneak a shower in when she gets home, when suddenly there’s a rap on her window, and she spins to see Rio outside of it, hands buried in the pockets of his sweats. 

Beth winds down her window, and Rio just looks at her for a minute, jaw clenching a little at the back, rocking on his heels. The security light at the gym catches his cheekbones, makes dark hollows of all his valleys, sun-kisses all of his peaks, and that tear in Beth’s chest – the one she can’t explain – splits open a little wider. Behind him, she can hear the distant thrum of traffic, a siren, a man, yelling in the dark. 

“This ain’t a - - ” Rio starts, and then he rocks his jaw, looks away from her, and Beth blinks hard. “This ain’t me endorsin’ shit, okay? This is me tryna give you a better last resort than lyin’ through your teeth. Don’t go in. Nothin’s worth it. I hear you did again, you and me gonna be havin’ a very different conversation.” 

Beth just looks at him, huffs out a breath, and it’s so sudden – the thought of kissing him – to thank him, to shut him up, to say goodnight, maybe just to kiss him. It’s enough to push her back a little in her seat, to nod sharply, to look away from him too, and Rio nods, turns on his heel. He hits the bonnet of her minivan before slipping into his own car, and Beth watches him for a minute. Watches him do up his seatbelt, watches him have a drink of water, watches him rub furiously, briefly, at his face, and then he turns, sees her watching him, a brief look of surprise crossing his face before he tilts his head towards the exit, gesturing for her to leave. 

And right, Beth thinks, ignoring all the ways she can still feel him on her. 

All the ways she can still feel him _in_ her. 

Beth starts her engine.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Bruce Springsteen's 'I'm Goin' Down'.


End file.
